Jackson Twins, The Lightening Theif
by NegletedNecromancer
Summary: Always trouble-prone, the life of teenagers Percy Jackson and Pillar Jackson gets a lot more complicated when they learn they're the son and daughter of Greek God Poseidon. All their life they believed that they were normal. But suddenly, a certain someone wants a Bolt in trade for a mother. Pillar and Percy set off to save their mother and the fate of the earth, all in a few days.
1. Chapter 1

I ACCIDENTALLY VAPORIZE MY PRE-ALGEBRA TEACHER

 **Percy's POV**

 **Pillar-Look, I didn't want to be a half-blood.**

 **Percy-I didn't either. I like how you conveniently only add yourself.**

 **Pillar-Shut up and say the next part. Your interrupting the flow of the story.**

 **Percy-All right, sheesh. If you're reading this because you think you might be one, my advice is: close this book right now. Believe whatever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try to lead a normal life.**

 **Pillar-Being a half-blood is dangerous. It's scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.**

 **Percy-They have no idea what a half-blood is, idiot. Maybe you should explain it to them.**

 **Pillar-Perseus Jackson...**

 **Percy-All right. I get it when my logic is not wanted. If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.**

 **Pillar-But if you recognize yourself in these pages—if you feel something stirring inside—stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you.**

 **Percy & Pillar-Don't say we didn't warn you.**

My name is Percy Jackson and my twin sister's name is Pillar Jackson.

We are twelve years old. Until a few months ago, we were both unhappily boarding students at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. You could say that, though Pillar thinks _mentally deranged_ sounds better. Like the dark, depressing music she likes to listen to.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan— twenty-eight mental case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know—it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes. Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once I wouldn't get in trouble. Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me on field trips. Like at my fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, I had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. I wasn't aiming for the school bus. Pillar decided she would sit on the cannon and swing her legs, changing the aim of it, but of course we got expelled anyway. And before that, at my fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, Pillar sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk—not the one I told her to hit by the way—and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip, I was determined to be good, and I was going to make sure my sister was too.

All the way into the city, I put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting my best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and ketchup sandwich, while poking Pillar in the back of the head, ten times a minute.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria.

Pillar on the other hand, she was the complete opposite of Grover. Even though her sea green eyes were exactly like mine, she had a false coldness in them. She believed that it would keep the bullies away. She was someone that had a rough exterior, someone no one wanted to get upset. On the outside, she was rude and merciless, but on the inside, Pillar was the second sweetest person I know.

 _Second._

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair and physically harassing my younger sister. It sucked that she knew Pillar and I couldn't do anything back to her because I got us on probation a few months ago.

It was an accident, of course.

The headmaster had threatened us with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her," I mumbled.

Grover tried to calm me down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter." He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it." I started to get up, but Grover pulled me back to my seat.

"You're both already on probation," he reminded me. "You know who'll get blamed if anything happens."

"We get suspended. Whoop-de-do. Big deal." Pillar said, dryly. She turned and slapped Nancy's hand, who was reaching out to poke her again.

Looking back on it, I wish I'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess we were about to get ourselves into.

* * *

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, three thousand years. He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking.

Pillar took it upon herself to tell them to shut up for my sake. She couldn't care about this sort of history, but every time she opened her mouth, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give her the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured my sister and I were devil spawn. I guess she always figured whatever one of us did, the other one had to have helped. She would point her crooked finger at us and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I knew we were going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made me erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, I told Grover I didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at me, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right."

That was the day Pillar just about smacked Nancy across the face.

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and I turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than I meant it to.

The whole group laughed, except for Pillar and Grover. They both gave me a satisfied nod. Though Pillar's had more of a spark in her eyes than Grover.

Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson," he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir."

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

"Easy. That's the only thing I learned in his class this year." Pillar whispered beside me, more to herself than out loud.

I looked at the carving, and felt a flush of relief, because I actually recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes," Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ..."

"Well..." I racked my brain to remember. "Kronos was the king god, and—"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan," Pillar took over for me, explaining what she remembered. "And ... he didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters—"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"—and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans," I continued for her, "and the gods won."

"Good job, Mr. and Miss Jackson. Next time, though, and this is just a thought, let _Percy_ answer for himself."

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.'"

"And why, _Mr._ Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," Grover muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair. At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

"How the world are we supposed to know that?" Pillar questioned aloud, raising her eyebrows at Mr. Brunner.

"Perhaps you should be asking your brother the same question."

She turned to me expectantly.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir."

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson and partial credit Miss Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like doofuses.

Grover, Pillar, and I were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Jackson's'." I knew that was coming.

I told Grover to keep going. Then I turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go— intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question," Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?" Questioned my sister.

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it."

"Oh."

"What you learn from me," he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy and Pillar Jackson."

"I...I understand, sir." I clasped my hands behind my back, squeezing my bones.

I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed us so hard.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman person who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshiped. But Mr. Brunner expected us to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that we both have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and we have never made above a C— in our life. No—he didn't expect us to be as good; he expected us to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly. I highly doubt Pillar can. She can barley stay awake in her classes for ten minutes.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told us to go outside and eat our lunch.

As we walked outside, Pillar shook her head and took hold of my hand.

"I just don't get it, Percy. He knows we have mental disorders and still believes that we can top everyone off. I'm grateful that he believes in us, but it's not as easy as it looks. I wish he knew that."

I nodded, agreeing with her. "Maybe he's just doing that so we can have hope in ourselves. Half the time, we give up with everything that we do."

She laid her head on my shoulder. "Maybe. I wish he was more realistic about it, though."

* * *

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in. Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Pillar, Grover, and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school—the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off me sometimes. I mean—I'm not a genius."

"You mean _we're_ not geniuses. I'm not any better at learning than you are. If anything, I'm worse." Pillar munched on an Oreo, putting the box she stole from the teacher's lounge in between the three of us.

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give her some deep philosophical comment to make her feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?" She didn't have much of an appetite for the apple, so she let him take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

I felt a hand touch my shoulder gently and I turned to look in misty blue eyes.

"Percy..."

"I just miss her, Pill. I want to be back in our tiny apartment, eating blue waffles in the morning. I feel bad for leaving her with our step-dad, but if we go home, she'll just send us back here. She won't be proud of our effort. We're barley even trying."

"You know that isn't true, Percy. She'll be proud of us no matter what. We _are_ trying. _You_ are trying. You've done so much this year. You've helped me stay in line, helped Grover deal with the other kids, helped me make friends so I wouldn't be alone, all while dealing with your own problems. I don't think you've realized it but your the only reason our family, including Grover and Gabe, have stayed together. Stop thinking like that. Besides, why should that matter. _I'm_ proud of you. I always have been. And I'm sure Grover is too. Right, Grover?" She turned to him, a glare set in her eyes.

"What? Oh, yeah. I'm proud of you, buddy. You've done a lot this year. Practically working yourself to death." Grover nodded in agreement.

I smiled and gave Pillar a quick hug. "You're an amazing sister, you know that?"

She grinned at me. "Of course I am. I'm perfect."

I sighed at her and looked away, towards the museum.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of me with her ugly friends—I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists—and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray-painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper." But I was so mad my mind went blank. A wave roared in my ears. I don't remember touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see—"

"—the water—"

"—like it grabbed her—"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that I was in trouble again. As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc., etc., Mrs. Dodds turned on me. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if I'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey—"

"I know," I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks." That wasn't the right thing to say.

Pillar shoved me. "Percy, shut up." She hissed.

"Come with me," Mrs. Dodds said.

She whacked me on the back of my head, as she stood up to follow Mrs. Dodds.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her." I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for me. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood," she said.

"But—"

"You— will—stay—here."

Grover looked at me desperately.

"It's okay, man," I told him. "Thanks for trying."

"Honey," Mrs. Dodds barked at me. " Now." Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

"Hey, did you-?" Pillar asked, tapping my shoulder.

"Nope. I'm seeing it too." I say, walking forwards to keep up with her.

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure. There are rare moments when Pillar and I miss something at the same time. They're usually different pieces of information.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between me and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall.

"Percy, I don't think we're seeing things." Pillar barley whispered, tugging on my hand.

"It's probably nothing. She's probably going to make us buy Nancy a new shirt at the gift shop."

But apparently that wasn't the plan.

We followed her deeper into the museum. When we finally caught up with her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You've been giving us problems, honey," she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am."

"Percy..." Pillar whispered, barley saying anything.

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt me. I said, "I'll—I'll try harder, ma'am."

"Percy..." Pillar said again, tugging my hand nervously

I shushed her.

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Percy Jackson," Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy I'd been selling out of my dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't..."

" _Percy!_ " Pillar exclaimed, backing up from me and Mrs. Dodds.

"Your time is up," she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. She wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice me and my sister to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air. Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I snatched the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit my hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword—Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward Pillar with a murderous look in her eyes.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at her.

Pillar yelped in alarm as came in contact with her, golding her shirts with her talons. She squirmed, trying to free herself from her grip that it was no use.

Mrs. Dodds raised a shrivled hand.

Absolute terror ran through my body. I sprinted towards them, and I did the only thing that came naturally: I swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

We was alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in my hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but me and my sister.

My hands were still trembling. My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or something.

Had I imagined the whole thing? I had nearly believed that I had, until a tiny sob echoed in my head. I knelt down on the cold floor of the gallery room, staring at my twin.

I stroked her hair and pulled her into a safe and reassuring embrace. "Stop crying. It's okay now. Nothing is going to hurt you. It's just me." I soothingly whispered in her ear, my heart breaking every time I heard her gasp for air.

"I almost died. I would have died, had you not reacted so quickly." She murmured, her voice laced with fear. "Percy," she looked up at me, "what was that?"

I wiped the tears off her face. "I don't know, but that's not my biggest concern right now. My biggest concern is you. Are you hurt, Pillar? Is something wrong?"

She mouthed "no" and buried her head into my shoulder, ending her tears.

We sat there like that for a while. Me, holding her, while Pillar get's herself together. I didn't mind it though. I only cared about whether or not she was okay. This is my sister, we're talking about. I care for her like no other and if something is wrong with her, something is wrong with me.

"Percy?" She spoke after a while.

"Yes, Sis?"

"Can I borrow your jacket. My shirt has holes in it."

* * *

We went back outside, my arm wrapped around Pillar protectively.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw me, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt."

I said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. I asked Nancy what she was talking about. She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at me nor Pillar, so I thought he was messing with me.

"Not funny, man," I told him. "This is serious."

Grover still didn't say anything.

Thunder boomed overhead.

I rolled my eyes at him and asked Grover to watch over my shaken-up sister while I go talk to Mr. Brunner.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved. I went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson."

I handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized I was still holding it.

"Sir," I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at me blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher." He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you feeling all right?


	2. Chapter 2

THREE OLD LADIES KNIT THE SOCKS OF DEATH

 **Pillar's POV**

I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on me. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr—a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip—had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

It got so I almost believed them—Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Grover couldn't fool me. When I mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, then claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying and Percy knew he was lying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum. There was no way something that didn't exist leave holes in my shirt. It just wasn't possible.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

Percy's demeonor completely changed. He was always infuriated and hard to please. He would barley even talk to Grover and I which had to say something, because we were the only people Percy actually talked to.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help his mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room and everyone knows my huge fear of thunderstorms. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

I started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time as well. My grades slipped from Ds to Fs. I got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. I was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked me for the millionth time why I was too lazy to study for spelling tests, Percy snapped at him for being so pushy on us all the time. He called him an old sot. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

Apparently, the headmaster thought so too. He sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: Percy and I would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if I had to go to public school and put up with my obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet... there were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Lacey, one of the very few girls at Yancy that I could actually tolerate long enough to be considered a friend. I'd miss Grover who was alawys helpful when Percy and I got into trouble, even if it meant he got in trouble as well.

I'd miss Latin class, too—Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that I could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one-eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

"Wow, Pillar. Someone's dyslexia is acting up." Lacey chuckled, looking over at me from her laptop.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt. "I just don't know what to do, Lace. I can't read, I can't write, I can't pay attention, I can't sit still. I'm not qualified to be a student."

Lacey laughed and rolled over to me in her desktop chair. "What class are you studying, hun?"

"Latin."

"Then ask Mr. Brunner for help. You are Percy are like, his favorite students."

I scoffed when I heard her say that.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. I will accept only the best from you, Jackson's.

Well apparently, my best isn't good enough for you.

I took a deep breath. I picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. Maybe Lacey's advice wasn't that bad. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

"Alright. I'll see you later, Lace."

* * *

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... worried about the twins, sir."

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you and your brother to an adult. It simply isn't possible.

I inched closer.

"... alone this summer," Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too—"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing them," Mr. Brunner said. "We need the children to mature more."

"But they may not have time. The summer solstice deadline— "

"Will have to be resolved without them, Grover. Let them enjoy their ignorance while they still can."

"Sir, he saw her. They _both_ saw her..."

"Their imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince the Jackson's of that."

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again." Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean."

"You haven't failed, Grover," Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy and Pillar alive until next fall—"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

My heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing," he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice."

"Mine neither," Grover said. "But I could have sworn ..."

"Go back to the dorm," Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow."

"Don't remind me."

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back the stairs. I turned left, instead of right, headed towards the boys' wing.

* * *

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night.

Percy was lying on the floor, holding a textbook above his head as he tried to decipher the words.

Grover turned to me when he saw me enter. "Hey," he said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

At the sudden conversation, Percy rolled over to face me, abandoning his textbook on the carpet beside him.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... tired. Grover, could you step out for a second. I really need to talk to Percy.

Grover nodded and left the room. I waited until I heard a satisfying click to start talking.

"Percy, Grover is lying. Mr. Brunner is too. Something did happen at the museum. We weren't imagining things."

Percy abruptly sat up. "What do you mean they are lying? How do you know?"

"I mean they are lying, Percy. Keep up. I was studying for Latin, or trying to, and I couldn't read, because, you know, dyslexia-"

"Get to the point Pillar."

"Grover was talking to Mr. Brunner about us. He said something about us seeing a Kindly One and somethings about the summer solstice being resolved without us. They were talking about us, Percy. They were talking about _Mrs. Dodds."_

Percy stared at me, sitting cross-legged on the carpet. "And Grover told you this?"

"No, stupid! I was eavesdropping on accident."

"You can't eavesdrop on accident, Pill.

"Hush up. Just, don't tell Grover. I want to hear it from him, and I'm sure you do too."

"Do you honestly think I'm that stupid to-. You know what, don't answer that. I won't. You should go back to your dorm, though. It's getting late, Pillar. We all know how you are when you're tired."

I nod and walk out the room, watching Grover as he goes back in.

Why won't he just tell us the truth?

* * *

"There you are! I was beginning to think you got lost." Lacey smiled, as I walked towards my dresser.

"Nah. I went to go talk to my brother." I sniffed.

"Oh? Is everything okay?"

I turned so she can't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

"Yeah." I mutter. "Everything is great."

I didn't understand what I'd heard downstairs. I wanted to believe I'd imagined the whole thing.

But one thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about Percy and I behind our back. They thought we were in some kind of danger.

* * *

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called me back inside.

As an instinct, Percy followed. We always assumed that when one of us is called, the both of us need to go. That's usually the case.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Jackson twins," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... it's for the best."

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me. Even though he was speaking quietly, the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I mumbled, "Okay, sir."

"I mean ..." Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time."

My eyes stung. I stepped back, reaching for Percy's hand. I grasped it tightly, and he squeezed back.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right," Percy nodded, sarcastically.

"No, no," Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... you're not normal. That's nothing to be—"

"Thanks," He interupted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding me."

"Percy—"

But he was already gone, dragging me along beside him.

* * *

I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

"Aww, hun, what happened?" Lacey asked, walking over to me.

She and her friends were packing for the summer, while discussing where they were going to go.

"Nothing." I grumbled.

She sighed and went back to packing. Lacey knew better than to talk to me while I was in one of my moods.

"I'm going to spend a month in Rome with my cousin." Said on of the girls lounging in the dorm.

"I'm going to Spain for study abroad, summer school."

"I'm going to London with my parents for a while." Lacey smiled, flicking golden hair over her shoulder.

I sighed, thinking about how I compared to these girls. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were rich juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

"What are you doing this summer, Pillar?"

"I'm going home with my brother to spend some time with my mom."

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

They blinked at me aand turned away, going back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as Percy and I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

* * *

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Percy glared at me for mentioning exactly what we said we weren't going the mention.

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha—what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, Pillar...I was just worried for you, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ..."

"Grover—"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were overstressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ..."

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar." Percy smirked.

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer." He gave one to each of us.

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

Grover Underwood

Keeper

Half-Blood Hill

Long Island, New York

(800) 009-0009

"What's Half—"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... summer address."

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay," I said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion."

He nodded. "Or ... or if you need me."

"Why would I need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Pillar, the truth is, I—I kind of have to protect you guys."

I stared at him.

Percy gaped at him. "What are you talking about protect _us._ Last time I checked, _we_ are the ones protecting _you!"_

All year long, we've gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without us, without Percy. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended us.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting us from? You can barley protect yourself."

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover, Pillar, and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road—no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of bloodred cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at Percy and I.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" I said. "Are you-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. They're looking straight at Percy and I. Why? Do you have a fear of old ladies knitting giant socks?"

"Not funny, Pillar. Not funny at all."

Percy was being unusually quiet next to me. I could feel his presence as he stepped closer to Grover and I. "Pillar?"

"Hm?" I hummed, looking at him.

Percy stared at the old ladies. "Remember that nagging feeling you got with Mrs. Dodds?"

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?"

"I have that feeling, right now."

The old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors—gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus," he told me. "Come on."

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there."

"Pillar, get on the bus." Percy told me with a shaky breath.

"But it's insanely-"

"Go!"

"But-!"

"Come on!'" Grover pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching us. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for—Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?" Percy asked.

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling us?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Pillar, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?" Percy dismissed me from the conversation.

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Pillar, what did you see?"

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn." I looked between the both of them.

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost—older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord."

"Yeah. So?" But even as I said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"This is not happening," Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time."

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth."

"Grover," I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you home from the bus station. Promise me."

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" Percy asked.

"Just stop pushing him, Percy." I intercept, placing my hand on his shoulder

No answer.

"Grover—that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

"Perseus, be quiet."

He looked at him mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers he would like best on his coffin.


	3. Not a chapter

The next chapter chould be out soon. Maybe two days. I don't have much time to write. I often have soccer to deal woth which takes up most of my time. I promise, the chapter should be out soon. I'm half way done with it.


	4. Chapter 3

GROVER UNEXPECTEDLY LOSES HIS PANTS

 **Percy's POV**

Confession time: We ditched Grover as soon as we got to the bus terminal.

I know, I know. It was rude. But Grover was being abnormal, with his weird talk about no one making past sixth grade. And they way he looked at me, I wasn't sure if that was natural, or if he was over thinking, or if he was serious about Pillar and I dying.

I'm not ready to die. I'm too young.

Whenever Grover got upset, his bladder acted up, so I wasn't surprised when, as soon as we got off the bus, he made me promise to wait for him, then made a beeline for the restroom. Instead of waiting, I got my suitcase, slipped outside, and caught the first taxi uptown.

"East One-hundred-and-fourth and First," I told the driver.

Pillar slid into the car, slamming the door shot beside her. "Percy, what was that about? You promised Grover that you would wait for him, and then left as soon as he was out of sight."

I shook my head and fastened my seat belt. "He's scaring me, Sis. What do you think he was talking about?"

She looked at me for a moment. "I don't know and I'm not sure if I want to know. But what we saw at the fruit stand-"

"Will not be mentioned to our mom. Neither will what happened at the museum. I don't want to worry her anymore. Between us going to school next fall, and how we get along with a certain someone.., in other words, Sis, she doesn't need this right now." I turned my head to the window, watching the world blur as we drove by.

"But what if she asks, Percy? You know I don't like lying to Mom. She's a good mother and doesn't deserve it." She complains, putting her legs on my legs as she gets in a comfortable position.

"She doesn't deserve the stress we'd give her either. If she asks, don't say anything. Let me handle it."

Pillar sighed and shook her head at me. "You're so stubborn, Perc. You really are."

I glanced over at her and gave a small smile. "That means you are to. Now, shut up and think about how happy Mom will be when she see's us. The _both_ of us at once."

A word about our mother, before you meet her.

Her name is Sally Jackson and she's the best person in the world, which just proves my theory that the best people have the rottenest luck. Her own parents died in a plane crash when she was five, and she was raised by an uncle who didn't care much about her. She wanted to be a novelist, so she spent high school working to save enough money for a college with a good creative-writing program. Then her uncle got cancer, and she had to quit school her senior year to take care of him. After he died, she was left with no money, no family, and no diploma.

The only good break she ever got was meeting my dad.

I don't have any memories of him, just this sort of warm glow, maybe the barest trace of his smile. My mom doesn't like to talk about him because it makes her sad. She has no pictures.

See, they weren't married. She told me he was rich and important, and their relationship was a secret. Then one day, he set sail across the Atlantic on some important journey, and he never came back.

Lost at sea, my mom told us in the stories she would repeat almost every night when we were younger. Not dead. Lost at sea.

She worked odd jobs, took night classes to get her high school diploma, and raised my sister and I on her own. She never complained or got mad. Not even once. But I knew we weren't an easy kids. Sometimes we would just argue with each other for the fun of it, yelling across our cramped apartment as if we actually held a grudge, but Pillar and I didn't always get along. It's the pure nature of siblings to fight at least five thousand times in their life. It has always been different when we fight, though. The tension would be unbearable and it would last for days, weeks even. It was one of those arguments when no one wants anything to do with the situation because as soon as you intrude, death.

Finally, she married Gabe Ugliano, who was nice the first thirty seconds we knew him, then showed his true colors as a world-class jerk. When I was young, I nicknamed him Smelly Gabe. I'm sorry, but it's the truth. The guy reeked like moldy garlic pizza wrapped in gym shorts.

Between the three of us, we made my mom's life pretty hard. The way Smelly Gabe treated her, the way he and us twins got along ... well, when I came home is a good example.

* * *

I walked into our little apartment, arms linked with my sister, hoping my mom would be home from work. Instead, Smelly Gabe was in the living room, playing poker with his buddies. The television blared ESPN. Chips and beer cans were strewn all over the carpet.

Hardly looking up, he said around his cigar, "So, you're home."

"Yes we are home, whale butt. We've been living here for the past, I don't know, maybe entire portion of our lives." Pillar muttered, shifting closer to me.

Gabe looked at her, fire burned in his eyes. "Listen here, you little-"

"Where's my mom?" I interrupted. If the conversation continued, it wasn't gonna end well.

"Working," he spoke to me, his eyes never leaving my sister. "You got any cash?"

That was it. No Welcome back. Good to see you. How has your life been the last six months?

Gabe had put on weight. He looked like a tuskless walrus in thrift-store clothes. He had about three hairs on his head, all combed over his bald scalp, as if that made him handsome or something.

He managed the Electronics Mega-Mart in Queens, but he stayed home most of the time. I don't know why he hadn't been fired long before. He just kept on collecting paychecks, spending the money on cigars that made me nauseous, and on beer, of course. Always beer. Whenever I was home, he expected me to provide his gambling funds. He called that our "guy secret." Meaning, if I told my mom, he would punch my lights out.

"I don't have any cash," I told him.

He raised a greasy eyebrow.

Gabe could sniff out money like a bloodhound, which was surprising, since his own smell should've covered up everything else.

"You both took a taxi from the bus station," he said. "Probably paid with a twenty. Got six, seven bucks in change. That little insult beside you has, what, five, ten dollars in her pocket? If you expect to live under this roof, then you ought to carry your own weight. Am I right, Eddie?"

Eddie, the super of the apartment building, looked at me with a twinge of sympathy. "Come on, Gabe," he said. "The kids just got here."

"Am I right?" Gabe repeated.

Eddie scowled into his bowl of pretzels. The other two guys passed gas in harmony.

"Fine," I said. I dug a wad of dollars out of my pocket and threw the money on the table. "I hope you lose."

"I'm not done, yet. Where's the money, girl? Cough it up."

Pillar scowled and pulled dollar bills out her pocket. She threw it at Gabe's face, but it only drifted lifelessly in front of him. "Maybe you should by yourself a pleasant personality. Oh right, I forgot. They don't have anything that can fix that mess you call yourself." She stomped off towards the room we share down the hall.

"Your report card came, girly!" he shouted after her. "I wouldn't act so snooty!"

I rolled my eyes at him, and followed my sister.

That ignorant put her in a bad mood. Thanks for that.

I slammed the door to my room, which really wasn't my room. During school months, it was Gabe's "study." He didn't study anything in there except old car magazines, but he loved shoving my stuff in the closet, leaving his muddy boots on my windowsill, and doing his best to make the place smell like his nasty cologne and cigars and stale beer.

I dropped my suitcase on the bed. Home sweet home.

"I swear, one day I'm going to shove detergent down his throat."

I looked over at Pillar and smiled. "I'll hide the body for you."

Her eyes noticeably darkened with anger and her stance changed. She forcefully unpacked her stuff, kicking things around that were in her way.

"I know you would, Percy, but I'm not in the mood for jokes."

I forced my smile to stay. "No, it's fine. I understand that you think that Gabe is so bad. What do you have against him anyways?" I knew that was a stupid answer. Gabe was mean, and ugly, and fat. Of course, there is nothing wrong with being fat, but when you purposely terrorize someone else's room, it becomes a problem. I never understood why he acted like this. Who shoved his hairbrush up his butt hole?

She looked at me as if I had lost my mind. "What do you mean 'what do you have against him'? I absolutely hate him, Percy! You know that. I wouldn't hesitate to lock him outside the apartment in 25 degrees weather. He stinks, he treats us like dirt, and he thinks he own Mom. Out of everyone I know, you should know that I hate seeing the people that I love be taken advantage of. She's not some toy that you can wind up, make it do tricks, and then throw away when you're bored!"

I sighed and walked over to her, placing my hands on her shoulders. "Don't forget that he reeks of moldy cheese on a summer day.

Gabe's smell was almost worse than the nightmares about Mrs. Dodds, or the sound of that old fruit lady's shears snipping the yarn.

But as soon as I thought that, my legs felt weak. I remembered Grover's look of panic—how he'd made me promise I wouldn't go home without him. A sudden chill rolled through me. I felt like someone—something—was looking for me right now, maybe pounding its way up the stairs, growing long, horrible talons.

I shivered at the thought and sat on my sister's bed, while she sprayed her Lysol-Febreze mixture around the room.

"You okay over there, Perc?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. I just need a second to compose myself. I think the smell is getting to my head." I put my head in my hands, pressuring my temples

 _Don't think like that, Percy. You'll scare your sister._

Then I heard my mom's voice. "Percy?"

Pillar stopped spraying her spray-able detergent and froze, turning to the door. "Mom?"

"Pillar?"

She opened the bedroom door, and my fears melted.

My mother can make me feel good just by walking into the room. Her eyes sparkle and change color in the light. Her smile is as warm as a quilt. She's got a few gray streaks mixed in with her long brown hair, but I never think of her as old. When she looks at me, it's like she's seeing all the good things about me, none of the bad. I've never heard her raise her voice or say an unkind word to anyone, not even me or Gabe.

"Oh, Percy." She hugged me tight. "I can't believe it. You've grown since Christmas!" She let go of me, a smile crinkling her young face, and turned to my sister. "And Pillar, I haven't gotten anything from the school about you misbehaving in a while, excluding the Yancy letter, of course. I'm so proud of you!" She brought her into a hug.

My sister gave her a nervous smile, and hugged her back. She pulled me in, so it was more of a group hug, instead of two people.

Her red-white-and-blue Sweet on America uniform smelled like the best things in the world: chocolate, licorice, and all the other stuff she sold at the candy shop in Grand Central. She'd brought me a huge bag of "free samples," the way she always did when I came home.

We sat together on the edge of the bed. While Pillar and I fought over blue gummy worms, she ran her hand through my hair and pulled my sister close. She demanded to know everything we hadn't put in our letters we wrote together. She didn't mention anything about us getting expelled. She didn't seem to care about that. But was I okay? Were her tiny twins doing all right?

I told her she was smothering me, and to lay off and all that, but secretly, I was really, really glad to see her.

"Don't believe what he says, Mom. He's just embarrassed on how happy he is to see you." Pillar sent a smug look at me.

I reached over my mom and pushed her off the bed. With a _thud_ she fell off, laughing.

From the other room, Gabe yelled, "Hey, Sally—how about some bean dip, huh?"

I gritted my teeth.

There he goes again, killing the mood.

My mom is the nicest lady in the world. She should've been married to a millionaire, not to some jerk like Gabe.

For her sake, I tried to sound upbeat about my last days at Yancy Academy. I told her I wasn't too down about the expulsion. I'd lasted almost the whole year this time. I'd made some new friends, Pillar made _a_ new friend, we've done pretty well in Latin. And honestly, the fights hadn't been as bad as the headmaster said. I liked Yancy Academy. I really did. I put such a good spin on the year, I almost convinced myself. I started choking up, thinking about Grover and Mr. Brunner. Even Nancy Bobofit suddenly didn't seem so bad.

Until that trip to the museum ...

"What?" my mom asked. Her eyes tugged at my conscience, trying to pull out the secrets. "Did something scare you?"

"No, Mom."

"Pillar?"

Fudge. I wasn't expecting that.

Pillar shook her head, staring straight at me with the blank expression only I could recognize as _I-told-you-so._ She wasn't bad at lying, she was actually the best liar I know. It's just that she didn't like it. At all.

I felt bad lying. I wanted to tell her about Mrs. Dodds and the three old ladies with the yarn, but I thought it would sound stupid.

She pursed her lips. She knew I was holding back, but she didn't push me.

"I have a surprise for you," she said. "We're going to the beach."

My eyes widened. "Montauk?"

"Are you serious? We barley even go there anymore." Pillar looked up from her spot on the floor, just as amused as I was.

"Three nights—same cabin."

"When?"

She smiled. "As soon as I get changed."

"Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes!" My sister got up, running around the room, while dragging out the last _s._

I couldn't believe it. My mom, Pillar, and I hadn't been to Montauk the last two summers, because Gabe said there wasn't enough money.

Gabe appeared in the doorway and growled, "Bean dip, Sally? Didn't you hear me?"

"Shut up, you old maggot!" Pillar yelled at him, bringing her excitement to a halt.

"She didn't mean that, Gabe." My mom quickly spoke, smiling sweetly.

I gaped at her. She knew Pillar meant every word, but I met my mom's eyes and I understood she was offering me a deal: be nice to Gabe for a little while. Just until she was ready to leave for Montauk. Then we would get out of here.

"I was on my way, honey," she told Gabe. "We were just talking about the trip."

Gabe's eyes got small. "The trip? You mean you were serious about that?"

"I knew it," I muttered. "He won't let us go."

"That's because the money-" Pillar glared.

"That he makes goes towards cost that should be made, regularly." I finished for my hot-tempered sister, not wanting to risk this trip. "He just wants to make sure that we are okay. In other words, he won't let us go because we need the money for greater cost."

"Of course he will," my mom said evenly. "Your stepfather is just worried about money, just like Percy said. Besides," she added, "Gabriel won't have to settle for bean dip. I'll make him enough seven-layer dip for the whole weekend. Guacamole. Sour cream. The works."

Gabe softened a bit. "So this money for your trip ... it comes out of your clothes budget, right?"

"Yes, honey," my mother said.

"And you won't take my car anywhere but there and back."

"We'll be very careful."

Gabe scratched his double chin. "Maybe if you hurry with that seven-layer dip ... And maybe if the kids apologizes for interrupting my poker game."

Pillar scoffed

Maybe if I kick you in your soft spot, I thought. And make you sing soprano for a week.

But my mom's eyes warned us not to make him mad.

Why did she put up with this guy? I wanted to scream. Why did she care what he thought?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I'm really sorry I interrupted your incredibly important poker game. Please go back to it right now."

Gabe's eyes narrowed. His tiny brain was probably trying to detect sarcasm in my statement.

"And I'm sorry I insulted you today, several times. I understand you don't take factual evidence very well."

"Yeah, whatever," he decided.

He went back to his game.

"Thank you," my mom said. "Once we get to Montauk, we'll talk more about... whatever you've forgotten to tell me, okay?"

For a moment, I thought I saw anxiety in her eyes—the same fear I'd seen in Grover during the bus ride—as if my mom too felt an odd chill in the air.

But then her smile returned, and I figured I must have been mistaken. She ruffled my hair, stroked my sister's cheek, and went to make Gabe his seven-layer dip.

* * *

An hour later we were ready to leave.

Gabe took a break from his poker game long enough to watch me lug my mom's bags to the car. He kept griping and groaning about losing her cooking—and more important, his '78 Camaro—for the whole weekend.

"Not a scratch on this car, brain boy," he warned me as I loaded the last bag. "Not one little scratch."

"Yes, Gabe. We know." Pillar mused, in a bored tone.

"It doesn't matter whether or not you know. This is my car. Not a scratch." He repeted again.

Like I'd be the one driving. I was twelve. But that didn't matter to Gabe. If a seagull so much as pooped on his paint job, he'd find a way to blame me.

"We can't drive, stupid." My sister muttered. "How are we supposed to scratch it? It's not like I wanted to be anywhere near you and your property anyways."

Smelly Gabe waved her off and turned, heading back to the door.

Watching him lumber back toward the apartment building, I got so mad I did something I can't explain. As Gabe reached the doorway, I made the hand gesture I'd seen Grover make on the bus, a sort of warding-off-evil gesture, a clawed hand over my heart, then a shoving movement toward Gabe. The screen door slammed shut so hard it whacked him in the butt and sent him flying up the staircase as if he'd been shot from a cannon. Maybe it was just the wind, or some freak accident with the hinges, but I didn't stay long enough to find out.

Pillar gasped and got in the Camaro. She told our mom to step on it.

Our rental cabin was on the south shore, way out at the tip of Long Island. It was a little pastel box with faded curtains, half sunken into the dunes. There was always sand in the sheets and spiders in the cabinets, and most of the time the sea was too cold to swim in.

I loved the place.

We'd been going there since I was a baby. My mom had been going even longer. She never exactly said, but I knew why the beach was special to her. It was the place where she'd met my dad.

As we got closer to Montauk, she seemed to grow younger, years of worry and work disappearing from her face. Her eyes turned the color of the sea.

We got there at sunset, opened all the cabin's windows, and went through our usual cleaning routine. We walked on the beach, fed blue corn chips to the seagulls, and munched on blue jelly beans, blue saltwater taffy, and all the other free samples my mom had brought from work.

I guess I should explain the blue food.

See, Gabe had once told my mom there was no such thing. They had this fight, which seemed like a really small thing at the time. But ever since, my mom went out of her way to eat blue. She baked blue birthday cakes. She mixed blueberry smoothies. She bought blue-corn tortilla chips and brought home blue candy from the shop. This—along with keeping her maiden name, Jackson, rather than calling herself Mrs. Ugliano—was proof that she wasn't totally suckered by Gabe. She did have a rebellious streak, like me, like my sister, like you reading this.

When it got dark, we made a fire. We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows. Mom told us stories about when she was a kid, back before her parents died in the plane crash. She told me about the books she wanted to write someday, when she had enough money to quit the candy shop.

Eventually, I got up the nerve to ask about what was always on my mind whenever we came to Montauk—my father. Mom's eyes went all misty. I figured she would tell me the same things she always did, but I never got tired of hearing them.

"He was kind, Percy," she said. "Tall, handsome, and powerful. But gentle, too. You both have his black hair, you know, and his green eyes."

"We know that, but who was he, _really_? You tell us the same things every time. We have no idea who he is, no idea what he's like. Please, tell us more?" Pillar pleaded.

Our mom sighed. "He loved the beach, especially the water. We would come here every summer, even before you two were born." She smiled at the thought. "His favorite color was sea green." She looked at my sister, a tear slipped out of her cheek.

"Oh." Was all Pillar could manage.

"What would he think if he saw us now," I laughed dryly. "A couple of mental kids that can't do anything right."

Mom fished a blue jelly bean out of her candy bag. scowling at the plastic. "Don't say that, Percy. He would be so proud of you both."

I wondered how she could say that. What was so great about me? A pair of dyslexic, hyperactive twins with a D+ report card, kicked out of school for the sixth time in six years.

"How old were we?" I asked. "I mean ... when he left?"

She watched the flames. "He was only with me for few summers, Percy. Right here at this beach. This cabin."

"But... he knew us as babies?" Pillar asked, hope slipping in her voice

"No, honey. He knew I was expecting a baby. We didn't expect it to be two. He never saw you, though. He had to leave before you both were born."

I tried to square that with the fact that I seemed to remember ... something about my father. A warm glow. A smile.

I had always assumed he knew me as a baby. My mom had never said it outright, but still, I'd felt it must be true. Now, to be told that he'd never even seen me ...

I felt angry at my father. Maybe it was stupid, but I resented him for going on that ocean voyage, for not having the guts to marry my mom. He'd left us, and now we were stuck with Smelly Gabe.

Pillar frowned. "So our dad, who _loved_ you so much, decided to go away on a trip to sea, when he knew you were expecting a baby, two at that? What kind of person does that? If anything, he should have stayed and helped you through it."

"It's not that simple, kiddo. He can't be here for that long. He has to go back when summer is over. We spent maybe three summers together. It may not seem like a lot to you, but that's more than I could ever ask for."

"What do you mean it's not that simple? Where does he go? Why is that-"

"Are you going to send us away again?" I interrupted her rant. "To another boarding school?"

She pulled a marshmallow from the fire.

"I don't know, honey." Her voice was heavy. "I think ... I think we'll have to do something."

"Because you don't want us around?" I regretted the words as soon as they were out.

Pillar thwacked me on the back of the head, for the second time that day.

My mom's eyes welled with tears. She took my hand, squeezed it tight. "Oh, Percy, no. I—I have to, honey. For your own good. I have to send you away. I have to send you both away. You can't be near me anymore."

Her words reminded me of what Mr. Brunner had said—that it was best for me to leave Yancy.

"Because I'm not normal," I said.

My sister raised her hand.

"Touch me and you'll die," I growled.

She glared at me and turned away, muttering something under her breath.

"You say that as if it's a bad thing, Percy. But you don't realize how important you are. I thought Yancy Academy would be far enough away. I thought you'd finally be safe."

"So I'm not important now?" Pillar scoffed.

"Safe from what?" I ignored her need for attention.

She met my eyes, and a flood of memories came back to me—all the weird, scary things that had ever happened to me, some of which I'd tried to forget.

During third grade, a man in a black trench coat had stalked me on the playground. Pillar had saw what was going on and threatened the man, causing a commotion. The teachers had noticed and threatened to call the went away growling, but no one believed my sister when she told them that under his broad-brimmed hat, the man only had one eye, right in the middle of his head. I didn't believe her either, at the time.

Before that—a really early memory. I was in preschool, and a teacher accidentally put Pillar and I down for a nap in a cot that a snake had slithered into. My mom screamed when she came to pick us up and found us playing tug-a-war with a limp, scaly rope I'd somehow managed to strangle to death with my meaty toddler hands.

In every single school, something creepy had happened, something unsafe, and I was forced to move.

I knew I should tell my mom about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds at the art museum, about my weird hallucination that I had sliced my math teacher into dust with a sword. But I couldn't make myself tell her. I had a strange feeling the news would end our trip to Montauk, and I didn't want that.

"I've tried to keep you as close to me as I could," my mom said. "They told me that was a mistake. But there's only one other option, Percy—the place your father wanted to send you. And I just... I just can't stand to do it."

"Percy, we should tell her." My twin whispered beside me.

I waved her off.

"My father wanted s to go to a special school?"

"Not a school," she said softly. "A summer camp."

My head was spinning. Why would my dad—who hadn't even stayed around long enough to see me born— talk to my mom about a summer camp? And if it was so important, why hadn't she ever mentioned it before?

"I'm sorry, kids," she said, seeing the look in my eyes. "But I can't talk about it. I—I couldn't send you to that place. It might mean saying good-bye to you for good."

"For good? But if it's only a summer camp ..."

She turned toward the fire, and I knew from her expression that if I asked her any more questions she would start to cry.

I stood up to go take a walk along side the water, gently taking my sister's hand.

"Percy, I think we should tell her." Pillar spoke, once we were out of ear shot. She leaned her head on my shoulder and closed her eyes, letting the moonbeams cast shadows on her features.

"I think not." I looked down at the waves, crashing against my feet, were I stood in one spot, facing the ocean. "You saw her expression when she thought about ending us away to keep us safe. If we tell her, it will only push her to do it."

"Do you really want to risk your, _our,_ lives because you're too afraid to leave our mom forever? I get it, we never get to see her again. I don't want that either, but if it's a summer camp we can see her when the summer is over. We can send letters. We can call her. We don't have to see her in order to communicate with her. I'm sure it's not that bad."

I shook my head and let go of her hand, resting it on the side of her face. It was unusually warm. "Are you okay, Sis? Are you sick? You seem like you have a fever."

She didn't say anything, only standing there with her eyes closed. She grimaced at my sudden change of the subject, but didn't say anything.

Yep, she's sick.

* * *

That night I had a vivid dream.

It was storming on the beach, and two beautiful animals, a white horse and a golden eagle, were trying to kill each other at the edge of the surf. The eagle swooped down and slashed the horse's muzzle with its huge talons. The horse reared up and kicked at the eagles wings. As they fought, the ground rumbled, and a monstrous voice chuckled somewhere beneath the earth, goading the animals to fight harder.

I ran toward them, knowing I had to stop them from killing each other, but I was running in slow motion. I knew I would be too late. I saw the eagle dive down, its beak aimed at the horse's wide eyes, and I screamed, No!

* * *

A blood-curling screaming woke me up. Recognizing the voice immediately, I flung myself out of bed, towards my sister. "Pillar!"

She opened her eyes with shock, breathing heavily. Tears streamed down her smooth cheeks. She was shaking, terribly

"Bad dream."

I didn't get a response out of her, but I already knew the answer.

"Was it the shinning light, again?"

Still no answer.

I sighed. "Are you going to say anything?"

Silence.

I rolled my eyes and pulled her into my arms, rubbing her back. Slowly, her breathing calmed and she stopped panicking. Over her shoulder, I glanced out the window.

Outside, it really was storming, the kind of storm that cracks trees and blows down houses. There was no horse or eagle on the beach, just lightning making false daylight, and twenty-foot waves pounding the dunes like artillery.

With the next thunderclap, my mom woke. She sat up, eyes wide, and said, "Hurricane."

I knew that was crazy. Long Island never sees hurricanes this early in the summer. But the ocean seemed to have forgotten. Over the roar of the wind, I heard a distant bellow, an angry, tortured sound that made my hair stand on end.

Then a much closer noise, like mallets in the sand. A desperate voice—someone yelling, pounding on our cabin door.

My mother sprang out of bed in her nightgown and threw open the lock.

Grover stood framed in the doorway against a backdrop of pouring rain. But he wasn't... he wasn't exactly Grover.

"Searching all night," he gasped. "What were you thinking?"

My mother looked at me in terror—not scared of Grover, but of why he'd come.

"Percy," she said, shouting to be heard over the rain. "What happened at school? What didn't you tell me?"

I was frozen, looking at Grover. I couldn't understand what I was seeing.

"O Zeu kai alloi theoi!" he yelled. "It's right behind me! Didn't you tell her?"

"Grover?" Pillar asked, in a small voice. "You aren't..."

I was too shocked to register that he'd just cursed in Ancient Greek, and I'd understood him perfectly. I was too shocked to wonder how Grover had gotten here by himself in the middle of the night. Because Grover didn't have his pants on—and where his legs should be ... where his legs should be ...

My mom looked at me sternly and talked in a tone she'd never used before: "Percy. Tell me now!"

I stammered something about the old ladies at the fruit stand, and Mrs. Dodds, and my mom stared at me, her face deathly pale in the flashes of lightning.

She grabbed her purse, tossed me my rain jacket, and said, "Get to the car. All of you. Go!"

Pillar stood up, nearly falling sideways. I quickly grabbed her waist to steady her and held her close and we ran towards the car.

"You should have told her like I said." She muttered.

"Shut up."

Grover ran for the Camaro—but he wasn't running, exactly. He was trotting, shaking his shaggy hindquarters, and suddenly his story about a muscular disorder in his legs made sense to me. I understood how he could run so fast and still limp when he walked.

Because where his feet should be, there were no feet. There were cloven hooves.

 _ **None of the characters are mine except for Pillar and the guy that I am about to come up with. Speaking of him, I need help. I am trying to create this male character for Pillar because Percy has Annabeth and it wouldn't be far. All I know is that I want him to be part of the Apollo Cabin. I need help coming up with this guy so if you could send me ideas, that would be great. I wanted to name him Mathew, Matt for short, or Matty for what Pillar calls him, but I like the name Fin. Unless you have something else in mind...**_

 _ **Personality**_

 _ **Weapon**_

 _ **Looks**_

 _ **Height**_

 ** _Name_**

 ** _Powers_**

 ** _Distinguishing_** ** _Features_**

 ** _Past_**

 _ **Thanks you guys! Also, soccer season is officially over as of today so I should have more time.**_


	5. Not a chapter, again

The reason I haven't been writing is...well I'll tell you in two words, sinus infection. I have been working on trying to heal myself because the symptoms are terrible. I will write when I feel better. I spend my days sleeping and taking medicine since my body doesn't want to accept food. It may be a week a longer. Sorry, I really am. I'm not holding anything hostage, I just feel sicky.


	6. Chapter 4

_MY MOTHER TEACHES ME BULLFIGHTING_

 **Pillar's POV**

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the windshield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I wondered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remembered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo— lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.

I stared at his cloven hooves, racking my eyes over his furry body. A human being of this context should not look like a mix between bigfoot and a vulnerable creature also known as a human. I allowed myself to believe this was a mere side effect of the vivid nightmare I experienced not that long ago.

But I was wrong; Percy saw him too.

After coming to the realization that this wasn't an illusion, and I wasn't hallucinating or high on laughing gas, all I could think to say was, "So, you and my mom... know each other?"

Grover's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly," he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching the two of you."

"Watching me, or better yet, us? From what?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend." I noticed that he had completely ignored my other question. I was about to repeat it, but my annoyance of a brother had opened his big mouth before I had a chance to say anything.

"Urm...what are you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now."

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, my best friend is a donkey—"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

I stared at Grover with one of the most confused looks I could muster. I have heard him make that noise before, but I assumed it was an irritated cry. He made that sound a lot when Percy and I got into a play fight, but this isn't play, and no one is fighting.

"Goat!" he cried.

"What?"

"I'm a goat from the waist down."

"You just said it didn't matter."

I took this time to smack Percy upside the head for adding to the tension and confusion that was already building up in the stuffy vehicle by the passing second. I didn't need him to contribute to it.

"Okay, what's your problem?" He grimaced in pain.

"Aish! You're not making this any better, stupid."

"Blaa-ha-ha! She's right! There are satyrs who would trample you underhoof for such an insult!"

"Underhoof?" I tilt my head.

"Shut up if you're not going to ask logical questions." Percy gave me a dull look and continued with his conversation. "Anyways, when you say satyrs, you mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course."

"Then why—"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract," Grover said, like that should be perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are. I thought it would only be one of you who realized who they were. I thought that would be Pillar because she was quick to notice a change, but you both did. When there are twins, the risks increase. Two of you send of a signal in one location, making more of _them_ notice you."

"Who I—wait a minute, what do you mean?"

"Yeah, what do you mean. I know who I am. I am Pillar Jackson, and that's Percy Jackson. Grover are you sure you are okay? Maybe you put a costume on and forgot. Have you drunk anything spoiled recently?" I raise my eyebrows, in concern. Maybe this isn't true. Maybe Grover is just crazy.

"Pill, if I was crazy, and this isn't true, why is your mother in it as well?"

There was an uncomfortable silence for what seemed like an hour. Just as I was about to say something again, the weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

"Children," my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety."

"Safety from what? Who's after us?" Percy reached back from the front seat and gripped onto my hand, rather tightly.

"Oh, nobody much," Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions."

"What?" Percy and I yell at the same time, my head whipping towards the "satyr".

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. There was no way my brain would construct something out of this, whilst I spend my days listening to Kpop. I didn't have the material for this, the knowledge, the experience. It made no sense. If I was to dream about something like this, I might as well give up Korean practices for the rest of my life, and that isn't going to happen.

My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about." My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for our sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you."

"The place you didn't want me to go." Percy flatly pushed out. He sounded distant, as if he was in thought.

I squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile.

"Please, dear," my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger."

"Because some old ladies cut yarn."

I could feel the amount of anger in his words. Percy was tense, so was I, but I could tell he was more worried about protecting Grover and I. He was always so keen on making sure that the people hoe loved didn't get hurt.

I sighed and rested the palm of my hand on his cheek. Percy visibly relaxed. He nodded at me with appreciation.

"Those weren't old ladies," Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means—the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... when someone's about to die."

"Whoa. You said 'you.'" Percy tensed, once more.

Great going, Grover.

"No I didn't. I said 'someone.'"

"You meant 'you.' As in me."

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you."

"Oh my god, shut up! I'd rather not spend God know how long in a car with you two bickering like a couple of toddlers.

Mom pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid—a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please."

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness—the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill me.

That thing probably wants to kill me too.

Then I thought about Mr. Brunner ... and the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling boom!, and our car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time. My ears were ringing and my muscles felt stiff, unmovable. I had tried turning my head, but only received a sharp pain in my neck. My eyes darted around me, examining my surrounding.

I had opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. Just a silent, droaned croak. The only thing I could manage to get out of my vocal box was "Ow" and that didn't match up to the amount of pain I was feeling.

"Percy!" my mom shouted.

"I'm okay... ."

"Pillar!"

"She's alive." Percy groaned for me.

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump.

The lump was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth.

My eyes widened. I slowly leaned forward towards Percy, ignoring my body screaming for me to stop. I bumped my head against his shoulder and somehow managed to motion to our lifeless best friend, passed out on the seats.

Percy gasped and immediately began shaking Grover.

I watched him shake the poor guy, endlessly. All feelings began to drain from my body as I noticed how long Percy has been shaking him, how many times Grover has rocked back and forth viciously.

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"Listen," my mother said, "we have to ..." Her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard and spoke with a raspy voice. "Who is—"

"Get out of the car." My mother said, deadly serious.

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. Percy tried his. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking. We're going to die in here all alone and the only thing left of me will be the hidden Kpop posters in my room. At least my pride and joy of being a Kpopper is still left in fragments.

"Climb out the back seat!" my mother told me. "You both—you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?" I say, of pure uncertainty.

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door."

"Property line?" I question. "Is there a gate or something.

She nods solemnly.

"Mom, you're coming too." Percy speaks, a look of determination etched onto him.

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" He shouted. "You are coming with me. You're help me carry Grover and take care of Pill."

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands—huge meaty hands—were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... was his head. And the points that looked like horns...

"You're running out of time." I warn, quietly in the background.

"He doesn't want us," my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line."

"But..."

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please. You and you're sister have to go. I know you're not the most level headed person in the world, and I know you are a very stubborn child, usually for the right reasons, but I really need you to go."

Percy let out a puff of air and unbuckled his seat belt. He turned towards me with such a look of serious, I wanted to cower into the shadows. "Unlock your seat belt and move Grover over. I'm going to open the door."

I nodded and scrambled to do as he asked. I grabbed Grover by his tanned shoulder and yanked him over to my side. His head fell into my lap, and he groaned dejectedly.

Percy climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom."

"I told you—"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Pillar, help me with Grover."

I didn't wait for her to protest. I rushed outside, dragging Grover from the car. He was surprisingly light, but I couldn't have carried him very far if my mom hadn't come to my aid.

Together, we draped Grover's arms over our shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass. Percy led the way, marching uphill.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine—bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except underwear—I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms—which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns—enormous black-and-white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's—"

"Pasiphae's son," my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you."

"But he's the Min—"

"Don't say his name," she warned. "Names have power."

The pine tree was still way too far—a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

"We're going to die." I muttered, watching Pasiphae's son search through our wreckage.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows—or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh," I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

Percy stopped and turned towards us, waiting for us to catch up. It isn't that easy though, carrying a passed out satyr who isn't anything but dead weight at this point.

"His sight and hearing are terrible," she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough."

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, I remembered Gabe saying.

"Well, there isn't a scratch. There isn't even a car. See, he didn't have anything to worry about." Percy attempts to lighten the fearful mood.

"Alright," my mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way— directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?" I say, out of breath and nearly about to collapse from hauling Grover up a hill. Percy rushes towards me and takes my place, giving me a chance to rest.

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you guys near me."

"Keeping me near you? But—"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and my anxiety wasn't getting any better.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go! Separate! Remember what I said."

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right—it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at my chest.

"Whenever you're ready, Percy, I am too." I say, watching the bull as he charged at us.

"I'll count down, then. Three."

I'm to young to die.

"Two."

Please let this work.

"One."

My last day on Earth was rather sad.

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, until I heard "one". I jumped to the side.

The bull-man stormed past like a freight train, then bellowed with frustration and turned, but not toward me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

We'd reached the crest of the hill. Down the other side I could see a valley, just as my mother had said, and the lights of a farmhouse glowing yellow through the rain. But that was half a mile away. We'd never make it.

The bull-man grunted, pawing the ground. He kept eyeing my mother, who was now retreating slowly downhill, back toward the road, trying to lead the monster away from Grover.

"Run, twins!" she told us. "I can't go any farther. Run!"

But I just stood there, frozen in fear, as the monster charged her. She tried to sidestep, as she'd told me to do, but the monster had learned his lesson. His hand shot out and grabbed her by the neck as she tried to get away. He lifted her as she struggled, kicking and pummeling the air.

"Mom!"

She caught my eyes, managed to choke out one last word: "Go!"

Then, with an angry roar, the monster closed his fists around my mother's neck, and she dissolved before my eyes, melting into light, a shimmering golden form, as if she were a holographic projection. A blinding flash, and she was simply ... gone.

"No!"

Anger replaced my fear. Newfound strength burned in my limbs—the same rush of energy I'd gotten when Mrs. Dodds grew talons.

The bull-man bore down on Grover, who lay helpless in the grass. The monster hunched over, snuffling my best friend, as if he were about to lift Grover up and make him dissolve too.

I couldn't allow that. I ran towards the creature, venom coursing through my veins. I don't want to lose someone else I love. My mother is gone, I'm not about let that happen to Grover, as well.

Percy followed close behind, stripping off his red rain jacket.

"Hey!" He screamed, waving the jacket, running to one side of the monster. "Hey, stupid! Ground beef!"

"Raaaarrrrr!" The monster turned toward us, shaking his meaty fists.

"Perc! What's our plan here?" I ask, slowly stepping backwards, making sure the predator doesn't charge at the prey.

"Our plan? Get on the thing and torture it whilst I weave through his legs, trying to trip him up. That's our plan. Maybe stabbing it with something while you are up there."

"How am I supposed to get up there? And with what?"

Percy turned towards me and cupped his hands. "I am going to throw you as high as possible, you can use the tree if you need to get higher. Snap his horn off as soon as you have the chance and stab him with it."

I gave him a weird look. "How do you know the horn is going to come off?"

"I don't, but any plan is better than no plan, yes?"

I sighed and gave him a sarcastic "Daebak."

Percy rolled his eyes and turned my around so I could see the bull beginning to charge at us.

Time slowed down.

My legs tensed. I have never expected myself to be jumping onto a immense sized bull and snapping it's horns off, with the help of my totally sane brother, but here I was, doing just that.

Percy cupped his hands, once again and nodded at me to push off. As I flew through the air, I noticed that I wasn't getting enough height. Lucky for me, the tree in front of me was tall enough for that job. I tightened my legs and bent them to soften the impact once I hit the bark. Almost as soon as I was positive that I wasn't going to get any higher, I pushed my legs out infront of me, using the trunk of the tree like a springboard. I bounced into the air with more momentum than before. I have to admit, it was a bittersweet moment. I loved soar above the Earth, but I was doing it for all the wrong reasons.

I hurled myself around so that I was up straight and landed on the bull's neck, in front of the horns, luckily.

How did I do that? I didn't have time to figure it out. A millisecond later, the monster's head slammed into the tree and the impact nearly knocked my teeth out.

The bull-man staggered around, trying to shake me. I locked my arms around his horns to keep from being thrown. Thunder and lightning were still going strong. The rain was in my eyes. The smell of rotten meat burned my nostrils.

The monster shook himself around and bucked like a rodeo bull. He should have just backed up into the tree and smashed me flat, but I was starting to realize that this thing had only one gear: forward.

Meanwhile, Grover started groaning in the grass. I wanted to yell at him to shut up, but the way I was getting tossed around, if I opened my mouth I'd bite my own tongue off.

"Food!" Grover moaned.

The bull-man wheeled toward him, pawed the ground again, and got ready to charge. I thought about how he had squeezed the life out of my mother, made her disappear in a flash of light, and rage filled me like high-octane fuel. I got both hands around one horn and I pulled backward with all my might. The monster tensed, gave a surprised grunt, then—snap!

The bull-man screamed and flung me through the air. I landed flat on my back in the grass. My head smacked against a rock. When I sat up, my vision was blurry, but I had a horn in my hands, a ragged bone weapon the size of a knife.

The monster charged.

"You got the horn! I'll take care of the rest!" Percy rushed to my side and took the horn from me. He turned around, and by that time, the bull was already less than twenty feet away.

Without thinking, I rolled to one side and came up kneeling.

As the monster barreled past, Percy drove the broken horn straight into his side, right up under his furry rib cage.

The bull-man roared in agony. He flailed, clawing at his chest, then began to disintegrate—not like my mother, in a flash of golden light, but like crumbling sand, blown away in chunks by the wind, the same way Mrs. Dodds had burst apart.

The monster was gone.

The rain had stopped. The storm still rumbled, but only in the distance. I smelled like livestock and my knees were shaking. My head felt like it was splitting open. I was weak and scared and trembling with grief I'd just seen my mother vanish. I wanted to lie down and cry, but there was Grover, needing my help, so Percy and I managed to haul him up and stagger down into the valley, toward the lights of the farmhouse. I was crying, calling for my mother, but I held on to Grover—I wasn't going to let him go.

The last thing I remember is collapsing on a wooden porch, looking up at a ceiling fan circling above me, moths flying around a yellow light, and the stern faces of a familiar-looking bearded man and a pretty girl, her blond hair curled like a princess's. They both looked down at my brother and I, and the girl said, "It's them. It must be."

"Silence, Annabeth," the man said. "THe boy and the girl are conscious. Bring them inside."

 _ **Dearest readers,**_

 _ **I apologize for being gone for so long, I have been stuck on a writer's block after I had gotten over my sickness. After that, I had exams which consumed my life for two weeks. School is over for me, which may or may not leave more time. I am a busy person and have a cheerleading camp in August for 3 days, so I won't be writing at all during that time. I am sorry for being delayed and I thank you for staying with me while I was temporarily out.**_

 _ **xoxo K.H**_


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